


when the sun comes up

by orphan_account



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Falling In Love, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, and death, hope in a dark place, implied non-graphic violence - Freeform, some vague sexual content (in a dream), trying to keep the general rating as well as i can lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: War is everywhere. It’s in the air, the water, the ground, the men—and then there’s Ack Ack.





	1. i take the edge off you

**Author's Note:**

> @generoes on tumblr asked if this could be fluff. i was originally going to for a canon-based fic, buuut here we are! there will probably be more fics to follow this one, so i made it into a series. spoiler alert: there will (most likely be) a happy ending (eventually).
> 
> EDIT: it decided to do this as a WIP for archiving's sake. let's see how it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i listened to [stay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8wDShVwu9E) by son lux while writing this.
> 
> sorry for any typos.
> 
> story/chapter title taken from [don't sweat it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JDU1K_A52U) by hannah lou clarke.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they reach the beach, there’s no such thing as going home, the war on the other side of the world, or anything else. There’s the smell of rotten coconuts, sea salt, and unwashed bodies. There’s the faint tang of apprehension mixed in with all this, hanging above them like a cloud. There’s a gun in every man’s hands and, soon, bodies start to fall, and there’s nothing else. Nothing but—

Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Eddie would be lying if he said there was nothing _but that_.

War is everywhere. It’s in the air, the water, the ground, the men—and then there’s Ack Ack. And Eddie wants to say that the war isn’t quite in _him_ yet. He’s still the same as he was in boot camp, or so he hears: a good leader, a good man, a body with two feet on the ground that’ll drag his men out of hell as best he can without leaving a living soul behind.

Ack Ack’s got this way about him. He moves between the foxholes along the line, through the camps when they’re off the line, checking on the men with Gunny falling in behind him. He’s a soothing presence among the men whose bodies are wrought with sickness, sores, and exhaustion. It’s there, though: Ack Ack comes through the jungle, and Eddie thinks that these men would burn their hands on a smoking gun for him. He knows _he_ would.

Ack Ack becomes captain; shortly after, he promotes Eddie to lieutenant. All of the men look at them like it’s meant to be that way. Burgin, De L’Eau, and Shelton look at them like that, with easy, open expressions, and there’s war here, right, there’s war in everything and everyone, yeah, but Eddie never expected to find _this_ in war. Not the way his heart beats in time as he falls into step beside Ack Ack, not how the captain falls asleep next to him when they’re finally under tent covers instead of jungle canopy and his breaths come out even and calm and Eddie thanks his lucky stars for that.

War is still hell, though. It cuts deep, down to the bone. It takes the blood and heart of every man in its burning hands and it twists, and crushes—

And then there’s Ack Ack.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. not afraid of a little bit of silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie pretends he doesn’t dream of home. It’s easier that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any typos.
> 
> chapter titled after [soul mates](https://alak.bandcamp.com/track/soul-mates) by alak, which i listened to on repeat while writing this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eddie pretends he doesn’t dream of home. It’s easier that way.

Sometimes he catches part of a half-whispered conversation among the men about home. It’s usually from the boots, new replacements who are still so green they don’t quite know to hide their homesickness just yet.

He and Ack Ack make their rounds through the encampment. They’re not far from the jungle, but they’re not due to move back onto the line for a few days, so they take every opportunity they can to make sure the men get their rest, but don’t forget their training. It’s become commonplace to watch Ack Ack circle around and put the men at ease. Eddie could do it before, but he’s learned how to do it Ack Ack’s way, too, when there’s a man whose eyes just won’t fill after a shell empties them out without landing a scratch on him. Ack Ack says he does the best he can, and thinks it’s not enough, but Eddie, like the rest of K Company, thinks that, without him—

It’s best not to linger on that. It’s a very real possibility, Eddie knows, but sometimes he wakes up hours before dawn with the image of Ack Ack falling out of the sky, a bullet tearing through his chest and coming out the other side in slow motion, blood coming out of his mouth and nose, lips trying to form words, but not being able to—not being able to say a goddamn thing—fresh in his head, and he has to remind himself to breathe before lighting up a cigarette.

On nights like those, he wonders if Ack Ack’s got dreams like that, too. Ack Ack never speaks on such things, not unless he’s comforting one of the men or setting them straight, but, still: Eddie wonders.

Eddie doesn’t dream of home much anyway. There’s a phantom ache sitting in his gut, but it grows less and less prevalent. It’s not that home is becoming less important; it’s that something else is sliding into that hidden place, something that he can’t miss because it’s always somewhere nearby.

After the first couple of weeks he realized what it was, he tried to ignore it. Then a bullet grazed the skipper’s left bicep and his heart made such a terrible, painful _thud_ in his chest that he, reluctantly, stopped lying to himself.

Now that they’re relatively out of danger, now that they’ve got some time on their hands, it’s, well, it’s almost too easy to fall into place beside Ack Ack under the south-pacific sun and forget the burning on the back of his neck, whether it’s from the burning in the sky or the way his heart hammers a nervous rhythm into his ribcage and warmth blooms until his skin is red when they trade a glance and a small smile between them.

On days like those, Eddie wonders if Ack Ack’s got feelings like that, too. He wonders if homesickness in him has faded because his heart’s found something else to hold onto while they’re out here, far away from the rest of the world and the war.

The night before they head out for the line, Eddie dreams:

He’s back home. His family’s standing in front of the house, at the end of a long dirt road he recognizes but knows in his heart doesn’t really exist, but he can’t move forward. His dog tags hang heavy round his throat and his uniform feels too close, too tight in front of their civilian eyes. And there’s this feeling—it’s like someone cut the back of his shirt and his coat off and the skin’s just there, just waiting to burn, cold, bare.

It takes him a moment to realize he can’t—no, _won’t_ —move forward because Ack Ack’s not with him. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out; when he wakes up, he feels fuzzy, his head full of cotton, and his heart—his heart is pounding in his chest. Not out of fear, but out of apprehension, out of—

Eddie isn’t a liar, but he won’t let himself think it yet, either.

There’s no time for that now.

When they head into the jungle, he’s still thinking about the dream. He tucks it away, deep under his collarbone, and squares his shoulders.

There’s no time for that now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. 'cause my eyes are burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy has gotten used to pulling his men up the beach when they land again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any typos.
> 
> theme song/soundtrack/chapter title source: [moses by chelsea wolfe.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ww2UzDDlpnI)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy has gotten used to pulling his men up the beach when they land again. The men—the boots, especially—have a hard time making their way past the wounded and the fallen. The constant gunfire is busy keeping them so low to the ground they may as well just bury themselves in the sand. But they’ve got to keep moving, or else they’ll all end up dead here, so he goes back, keeping his head down, and urges them onward.

At one point, he loses his footing in the blood-slicked sand, and falls—then Jones is the one to pull him up the beach until they’ve made it past that bloody, death-ridden no man’s land. Andy looks around briefly at the men awaiting orders before he realizes that everyone who was able-bodied and survived without much more than a graze is here.

With a glance over his shoulder, Andy sees Gunny Haney knocking Jones on the shoulder, his expression, for a moment, open—naked with relief. The eyes of the men on him are of the same mind, each of them looking like they were holding their breath.

It hits him, then: Jones went back for him.

It sticks out in the back of his mind for the rest of the day: they move out through cleared patches of jungle, through a gutted enemy camp, over a sharp ridge stained with spilled blood and rifle oil. K Company’s not the first to go through here, but it’s clear that no one’s been here in a while, and since the last known American troops to be stationed round here had to move out, they’ve been sent to root out any remaining enemies.

They stop around twelve-hundred hours for a breather and collapse onto ruined brick and cement, a place that goes along with any other they’ve seen since they shipped off to fight in the south-pacific. Andy only gets to lean his head against what’s left of a wall while Gunny makes his rounds through the exhausted ranks for a moment before he hears someone approach. He cracks open an eye, sees Jones, and gives him a small smile; in turn, Jones falls into the dust next to him, his back hitting the shattered shell of the house hard.

Neither of them say anything; it’s pleasant that no one has to when it’s just the two of them sitting and drifting in this kind of half-caught quiet. It’s the kind of silence he never could find back home, or boot camp, or, really anywhere.

It’s not the islands. Andy knows that.

What he wants, though, is to open his mouth and say _Eddie_ instead of _lieutenant, Hillbilly_ , or _Jones_. Formality’s a lost cause in some cases out here, he knows. When civilian standards don’t fall in, there’s a different kind of code, too, and all he knows is that things would be different if he could call Jones _Eddie_. The name sits in his mouth, something deep like a tooth that didn’t come in right time but not at all painful or bothersome. It’s _there_ , but it’s not there like his crooked teeth, the not-there scar on his tongue, or the faded irritations from biting the inside of his cheek to keep silent when he was a child. It’s not something that was there before the war, but it’s here now.

He doesn’t say it. He would try to swallow that, but, after so many weeks of trying, he knows the way to get it out of his system is to do it the right way. There _is_ a right way to this, and he won’t go about changing the familiarity between unless they’ve got the proper time to spare.

Andy’s known for dropping into a drifting soldier’s foxhole to help them keep alert while they’re on watch, but, that night, Gunny grunts, “let the skipper get some fuckin’ shuteye,” at the newest boots who haven’t truly learned how to keep their eyes forward instead of all around them, trained on everything and nothing at all. Gunny’s with him when he falls asleep, but, at one point or another, the older man slips off. 

Andy ends up dreaming.

When Andy wakes up, all he knows is this: Jones was there, near him, around him—something. The name _Eddie_ is stuck in his throat, caught between his bottom teeth and his tongue. He can feel his cheeks are flushed—not from the heat of day, which has begun to fade—and there’s the fact that something in him’s acting like a live wire, like a flame, curling like smoke does down deep in his gut. He scrubs a hand across his face, sighing.

Since it's clear there’s no sleep left for him tonight, he hauls himself out of his foxhole to go check on the men—and, of course, to go find Jones.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. more than melody to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any typos. i wanted to get this posted before i went to school.
> 
> titled after [more than melody by anna nalick](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fOKb2bT94xU)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Andy dreams:

The jungle swallows Jones alive. He calls, _Eddie, Eddie_ , into the dark, but there’s nothing. He didn’t see it happen, but he knows it did—something is _missing_ , like a chunk of the world was ripped away in the night right out from under him, a place where men might only call the heartland because there was no other word that suited it.

He wakes up with his shirt sticking to his back, drenched in cold. He can hear the rain pounding an overstated rhythm onto the tarp keeping him from the damp. It’s dark—dawn’s not come yet—but he can make out the faintest touch of sun in the sky.

It isn’t anything like home.

The rest of the day is spent forgetting the dream and remembering it in bits and pieces. He looks over his shoulder—once, just once—when noon rolls around to make sure Jones is next to him. When their eyes meet, Jones asks, “skipper?” and maybe it’s then that Andy realizes that his face feels strained from frowning for most of the day.

“Nothing, lieutenant,” he says, squeezing his arm, before heading off towards the men—all of whom are dripping wet, shivering with sick, empty-eyed with an exhaustion that’s gone all the way through the bone at this point.

Andy’s not sure if he gave himself away, or if he gave the impression that something was wrong, but Jones is with him most of the day. Side by side, they walk aligned, and Andy wonders, for a moment, if it’s possible for a heart to find a new home away from home—or else, something completely different—in a time of war. He’s a reasonable man, and stranger things have happened, he thinks, but he tells himself what he tells his men: _you can’t dwell on any of it_.

The days stretch on until they hear they’re being moved out. There hasn’t been a sign of a single enemy in twice that long, and when they hear they’re on their way to Melbourne for a breather, some of them blink. Most of them don’t visibly reacts. Most of it feels like a dream, anyhow—civilization and the comforts they could find at home.

“It’ll be good for the men,” Andy finds himself saying to Jones as they load up onto the ship. The men’s gaits are shuffled and stuttering, aborted attempts at trying to get far away from the island, only to go someplace made of hard medal, tinged with rust. Not much better, in his opinion, but it's a sign of someplace else, and that's a start.

“Damn right, skipper,” Gunny Haney says as he passes them by, urging the marines forward.

“How long?” Jones asks, because no one else has; Andy’s been expecting this.

“A few days. Enough time for them to get some rest.”

“Some real chow, too, skipper?”

It’s a joke; though Andy’s too tired to laugh, he smiles nonetheless, and Jones smiles back. That night, with their heads titled back towards the sky with the sea at their back, Andy doesn’t sleep. He listens to Eddie strum his guitar and he thinks, idly, that, for better or for worse, the only thing home doesn’t have is this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. your name like a song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Melbourne’s not home, but that doesn’t really matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any typos
> 
> title taken from war song by emily
> 
> btw ive moved tumblrs my new url is @halfwolff

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Melbourne isn’t home. It isn’t where any of them came from; but, honestly, neither his head nor heart care for the differences. Eddie’s back in civilization again and it feels like waking up after sleeping for so many long years that he lost touch with the world. So, Melbourne’s not home, but that doesn’t really matter.

They’re stationed, along with the other companies, in a stadium. There’s bunks, cots, and hot food waiting for them. It’s grand compared to the last weeks spent living in the mud; most of the men either collapse on a bed or make a beeline for the exits. The MPs aren’t making a move to stop anybody, and Eddie feels like he’s woken up inside another dream. In a tired dazed, he watches the majority of his men take off. He doesn’t realize Ack Ack’s standing next to him until he feels a solid, warm shoulder bump his. He doesn’t jump or stand at attention; he merely turns his head; their eyes meet.

“This is really somethin’,” Eddie says. His tongue feels leaden inside his mouth.

“Sure does beat the jungle,” Ack Ack agrees, readjusting the strap of his rifle.

“What’ll be your first order of business, sir?” Eddie says it wryly—a joke—and Ack Ack smiles.

God, he thinks, did something right when He put Captain Andrew Haldane on this earth.

“A hot shower,” Ack Ack replies. He touches Eddie’s shoulder, briefly, before nodding goodbye with a soft, “lieutenant,” as he turns away.

Eddie can’t help it: he has to swallow down whatever words are—or aren’t—gathering behind his teeth at the thought of that.

But he follows suit. He waits for Ack Ack to finish first, though, and grabs some shuteye.

The dream, Eddie finds, ends when he’s thoroughly washed his body of the jungle, the blood of his men, and blood of men he’s killed. He blinks; it’s like coming awake for the first time—for real—once he steps out into the open sun in a fresh uniform onto the grass. The sky is a soft, whole blue that stretches on until the top of the stadium cuts it off abruptly. He inhales and there’s no rifle oil, no stench of rotten coconuts or decaying, unwashed bodies; he breathes for what feels like the first time and finds that he’s itching for something—something to do.

When he goes to his bunk, Ack Ack’s waiting for him.

“I was thinking, Jones,” Ack Ack says as Eddie pretends to busy himself with organizing his things. His hair, still damp, drips water into his eyes, and blinks; now that he’s clean, it feels like his captain’s gaze has much more of a presence—the back of his neck and the tip of his ears grow warm, and he damn well knows it isn’t from the sun.

“Yes, sir,” Jones says, straightening up to face him.

Ack Ack’s expression—his eyes, the small smile, the smooth of his jawline—is soft. “Let’s get some hot chow,” he says.

A couple of things come to Eddie’s mind as they walk out of the stadium together.

One: the idea of hot chow is as foreign to him as a shower was half an hour ago.

Two: every time their shoulders brush, Eddie’s heard beats just a little bit faster, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth a little more at ease the farther they go into the city.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. warm enough for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They need to get out of this open yet crowded air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any typos
> 
> title taken from [drew barrymore by sza](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sc1S8YnCioY)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Though civilization is like paradise; the noise and commotion of the city are just about as bad as Eddie’s nerves as the jungle was.

The few men they’ve passed that they recognize are drunk enough to be lulled into a sense of security in Melbourne, but, as Eddie is completely sober, he tenses up. Whatever ease he felt fades as the phantom weight of a rifle in his hands burns his skin, even though the sun’s going down. When he glances at Ack Ack; the other man isn’t smiling anymore, either.

They need to get out of this open yet crowded air. Eddie tries to say as much but his mouth won’t work; luckily, Ack Ack seems to have the same idea. They duck into a little restaurant on the corner of a street. Inside, it’s blissfully sparse and quiet. Tension bleeds out of Eddie and Ack Ack like bullet holes shedding red; they’re seated at a table near the front, next to the door. Both of them position their chairs so they’ve got an eye on the exit.

It’s a Greek place, family-owned and run. The food is good, the service better, and the company—

Eddie’s not about to complain. There's no room for that in here.

There are a few older couples huddled in the back, a group of young people laughing across from them, but, really, it’s just them. Scraping their plates, tilting back their glasses, filling themselves up with food that’s never known Guadalcanal or any other place like it, food that death and shortage haven’t touched. Civilian's food is heavenly compared to the rations some of men from H company are rumored to have found from the Great War.

Thinking about it threatens to turn the food in Eddie’s mouth to ash. His appetite, finally sated, now vanishes completely, and he has to down his glass of water to get the feeling of those rations out of his throat somehow.

He doesn’t realize Ack Ack’s looking at him until he finally brings himself to look the other man in the eye. His captain’s gaze is so startlingly soft and void of restraint that it takes him a moment to realize what it is he sees in his eyes.

Eddie’s heart is hammering in his chest, but he’s relaxed; no tension stiffens the muscle in his back or shoulders: there’s just a nervous coiling in his chest that feels a light like a flutter, making him swallow down whatever stupid thing he thinks he might say that just might ruin this.

Ack Ack clears his throat, a bit awkward, glacning says, “we should be heading back, soon,” and then readjusts in his chair, scraping back against the tile. “I…”

And there’s that look again, that naked, soft gaze. Eddie thinks it just might kill him.

“Jones—”

“Eddie,” he corrects without thinking. Ack Ack blinks; without knowing what else to do, says, “call me Eddie.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. i can be your heart to let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy thinks this is going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the past 6 chapters have been edited for mistakes
> 
> sorry for any typos
> 
> this was titled after [crowded placed by banks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t99ZhG5LEVk)
> 
> thank you to everyone who's been keeping up with this! school is officially no longer hectic so i hope to get more chapters posted soon. i hope all of you have a lovely day <3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Eddie_.

Andy thinks this is going to be the death of him. Not a mortar, not a stray bullet, not sickness or even the ocean that’s pulled men in and drowned them. _This_ —it’s sitting in him heavier than a gun, lighter than a feather.

_Eddie_.

He doesn’t realize he’s said the name aloud until Eddie smiles, lopsided and open, and, god, his heart’s doing things a bird might do—swoop and drive and arc across the stretch of the sky, perhaps.

“Wanna get out’a here, skipper?” Eddie asks. Andy can only nod. They pay and walk out, shoulders a short breath apart, aligned, a solid line is a city full of jumbled masses and scattered singular outliers, drunk, heads full of light. The war’s touched no one here. At least, that’s what it looks like. No one speaks of the dead, not that he’s heard, anyway—

“Skipper—”

Andy looks over at Eddie, blinking, coming out of his thoughts.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, awkward, eyes flicking away—and Andy is warm, warm, warm. In a sea of white noise, with a backdrop of strangers’ bodies and neighborhoods (distorted reflections of home) they fail to catch the names of, it’s just them, _just them_ , and Andy—

He just really, really wants to kiss Eddie.

“I—”

A series of whoops and hollers cut him off. Both men look forward and direct their attention to a group of familiar marines stumbling out onto the sidewalk in front of them out of a bar, a club—some sort of dark place hidden between two stores. In the dim evening, it’s easy to see it’s Shelton wiping his mouth, dark eyes alight, gunfire-smile lighting up like a cigarette. A man from H Company—Bill, maybe—is right on his heels, falling onto a bench, and then K company men—Burgin, De L'Eau—follow suit. A handful of other H Company men—join them, and Andy takes a moment to watch Shelton get hauled to his feet by Burgin and De L’Eau. Shelton’s got that look on him, a look that’s a taunt and a challenge wrapped into one, something that they saw on the islands—but none of them have their rifles on them, and the mortar squad isn’t—

“Y’mind not cheatin’ next time,” one of them says—Leckie, maybe, his words slurring together.

Shelton hoots. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, boo,” and there’s more yelling, more drunken fist-shaking, and Andy glances sideways and finds Eddie shaking his head, saying nothing, biting down on his smile.

God—

“Jones,” he says softly, out of habit, “let’s get out of here.” The words feel lame and awkward falling out of his mouth, but Eddie obliges; they turn on the corner and leave that commotion behind them, feeling no need to intervene.

_God_ —

Andy won’t do it, though. Not yet. Not until it’s right to. Not—

“Ack Ack—”

Then he’s being pulled sideways, Eddie’s hand on his arm, and they’re squeezed into a tiny, shadowed alley on a dark block, with nobody around, the cool brick warming on their backs as Andy finds himself between a motionless building and a warm body, a body he’s seen swallowed by the jungle whole and alive in his dreams, the body of man who’s got room enough in Andy’s chest to call it a house, a house Andy wants to wake up in with Eddie.

“Is this…” Andy slowly puts his hand up and presses his palm against the junction of Eddie’s neck and shoulder. Swallowing hard, he opens his mouth to try again, but his heart’s pounding and his belly’s full of fluttering and—and—

Slowly, surely, in one deft movement, Eddie reaches up and fits his hand over Andy’s, pressing his calloused palm into fabric covering skin, scars covering muscle tissue, flesh over bone.

Roughly, Eddie says, “yeah,” nodding once, twice, a third time, and then he’s leaning forward, pressing his forehead into Andy’s shoulder. Andy feels all the air go out of him. In this strange stance, the exhaustion bleeds out of them with every exhale, every inhale filling them up with smell of shaving cream, soap, and burnt food from someplace close to where they are.

They half-hold each other like that in the shadowy dark until the sun goes down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
